The Favor
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl AU. He needs a favor from her. She's happy to grant it. The only thing is that she can't quite understand why a man like him would ever ask such a favor from a woman like her. Carol/Daryl
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So this is for the tumblr prompt of "fake relationship" for Daryl and Carol. I'll go ahead and admit that this one will, more than likely, end up having at least a few more chapters to it eventually. It'll be marked one shot until I get around to adding more.**

 **I own nothing from the show.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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He wasn't sure what had possessed him to tell the lies that he had told. Even as he was telling them, he'd felt like he was listening to himself with half his brain and trying to figure out who had taken possession of him to make him keep going. The lie, in itself, might not have been too bad—not if he'd just left it at a basic, little, white lie. But he hadn't done that.

No. He hadn't done that at all. The very moment that he'd begun to tell the lie, he'd found it impossible to stop. He'd just kept building it and building it, one layer at a time, until a simple white lie had become something monumental. He' hadn't been able to stop himself. It had just kept rolling off the tip of his tongue until he had finally had to come to a screeching halt because, before he even fully realized what he was doing, he'd accepted an invitation.

Now there was no backing out of it.

He'd told the lie because it seemed so important to Hershel and Jo Greene. They wanted the lie to be true. They'd wanted to hear him say all the things that he'd said. And those two old people were, in the short amount of time that he'd known them, more parents to him than his own parents had really been at times. He'd told the lie because he'd wanted to see the look on their faces that they gave him while they listened to him.

He wanted to see how happy they looked. He wanted to see how proud they seemed. They were so pleased for him.

Of course, if the lie had been truth, there would be a great deal to be pleased about—even for him.

There was no getting out of the invitation now, though. If he told them that he'd been lying, then they would think—he didn't even want to imagine what they might think. They would think that he was no better, probably, than they'd thought he was when he'd first shown up begging for work. They'd think the same thing about him that people had thought about him his whole life—he wasn't worth anything. He was dishonest, and if he was dishonest about this? There was plenty of reason to question if he was every honest about a single thing.

There wasn't time to end it, either. Not with roughly twenty-four hours to spare. He'd spoken so fondly about things and he'd put so much effort into making them sound wonderful that there was simply no way to even create a convincing lie—since another lie was surely what he needed in his life right now—as to what had happened to destroy so much happiness in such a short amount of time.

And then, of course, there was the farmer's daughter to consider and yet another reason that he wasn't ready to let go of his lie just yet.

In short, he had a major dilemma, and it was one that he needed help solving.

Somehow, in less than twenty four hours, he had to find someone that would go along with his lie. After that? Dinner done and out of the way? He could buy himself some time to consider his next step and he could figure out how to simply get away from the tangled lie that he'd told. Making the dinner would keep them from knowing it was a lie, and it would keep them from finding out, too.

All he needed was a willing woman that fit the bill of the imaginary woman that he'd created. That was the only reason that Daryl was hunting down at the Lobo on a Thursday night. And suddenly? He wished he hadn't been so descriptive—or so idealistic.

The Lobo had a decent sized crowd of women to offer, but pickings were still slim. None of the peroxide blondes or the women who looked like they came with any variety of STD known to man were going to work. He'd described this woman as wholesome. He'd described her as practically the Frankenstein monster made of Mrs. Brady, Mrs. Cleaver, and Sandra Dee. She was down to Earth. She was pretty. She was feminine and delicate and lady like.

She was the kind of woman that Hershel Greene might have, in a different time and place, fallen in love with and the kind of woman that Jo Greene wanted her sons to marry.

She baked cakes and knitted things and probably led a Sunday school group. She secretly planned their wedding, named their children, and decorated their home.

In short? Daryl was pretty sure that the woman didn't even exist—which was why he'd made her up, of course, instead of having a real life copy of her to show around to everyone he saw—and he was even more sure that, if she did exist, she wasn't in the Lobo on a Thursday night.

But desperation made for a great motivator.

Daryl made his way around the bar, ticking women off as he went, in a slow and steady search for someone who might pass for this dream woman. Of the women that he found who might have passed physically, none of them convinced him at all that they could pass the test otherwise. This was going to require some acting and a woman who couldn't seem to carry on a three minute conversation was probably not up to the Oscar worthy performance that he'd beg from her.

He'd all but given up, and sat down at the bar to have a drink of defeat for last call, when he found her.

Of course, at the moment, she had no idea that she'd been found.

"See if you can't start herding some of them out," she said to the other woman that was working with her—a peroxide blonde that had been ticked off the list fairly quickly, "and I'll start wiping down the tables?"

Daryl didn't even hear what the blonde said to her beyond her name. That was really all he needed at this moment anyway. And her name was Carol.

They were trying to close—now that it was the early morning—and would likely be anxious to leave. Any interference from Daryl would simply irritate everyone there and make him much less likely to get what he wanted. Therefore, rather than harass her too much while she worked, Daryl downed the shot that he had ordered, put far more money than was necessary on the bar, and walked over to where Carol—one knee in the booth for a better reach—was wiping down tables.

Daryl leaned on the table.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He asked.

She glanced at him, looked a little frustrated, and then pasted on her "customer friendly" smile.

"What you need?" She asked. "Andrea's handling last call. She'll help you out."

Daryl shook his head.

"Isn't about that," he said. "It's about a..."

He hesitated, trying to figure out how to open with this so that it would sound like something that was far more flattering and desirable than what it actually was. If he got her interested, then he had a much better chance of begging her to go along with it.

"An acting opportunity," he said.

She froze, furrowed her brows, and then she stood up from her leaning position in the booth and threw the wet rag at the table. Her hands immediately went to her hips.

"I'm not acting in some kind of—I'm not that kind of woman!" She spat.

Daryl was thoroughly confused, but all he could do was shake his head. Somehow he had been terribly misunderstood, even if he didn't understand what the misunderstanding was all about. He sputtered out a response to try to let her know that, but apparently she didn't hear him.

"How dare you! Just because I work in a bar? Because I wait tables? You think I'm going to act in your—in your—nasty videos?" Carol spat.

Daryl felt his own eyes go wide and he shook his head with more enthusiasm than before.

"You got me wrong," he said. "You got—you got me all wrong! Ain't nothin' like that. No—nothin' nasty! I promise!"

She opened her mouth, but she didn't say anything. She looked more confused now than she had earlier.

Daryl continued to shake his head.

"Nothin' nasty," he repeated. "Nothin' illegal. Nothin' even—bad. Nothin' like that. Just—a nice thing. You wearin' more clothes than you wearin' now."

She continued to look at him with a baffled expression on her face, but he'd earned that. He sighed.

"I ain't no good at this," he declared. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have even had to ask you. Can I just—when you get off work? Can I just—talk to you a minute? You can say yes or no then but—gimme a chance to explain?"

She looked around, but there was no one paying them any attention. Between trying to sneak in another "last call" after last call and trying to work up some last minute loving for the night, everyone there was occupied. The other woman that worked there was herding drunks toward the door as fast as she could—a pretty good feat considering several of them were trying desperately to take her home with them—and she was paying Carol no attention whatsoever.

Finally, Carol reached for the rag again.

"Yeah," she said. "Whatever. I'll listen to what you got to say, but I'm telling you—I don't do that kind of thing."

"Understood," Daryl said. "Heard loud and clear. I'ma go—have a smoke. Meet you in the parking lot? Ten or fifteen minutes?"

"Twenty," Carol said. "I have to count the money."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Twenty it is," he confirmed. And then, just as he'd promised himself he'd do, he left her to her work and managed not to bother her at all again during her rush time to get out of the bar.

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Carol would've left the man standing in the parking lot—chain smoking Marlboros and spouting out ridiculous stories—if he hadn't seemed so absolutely sincere in everything that he was saying. The fact that he was attractive to her, too, might have had something to do with it. And the fact that he was sober—and therefore this wasn't the incoherent babbling of a drunk—certainly helped. But really? It was his sincerity that she found endearing enough to keep her standing there, arms crossed across her chest, long enough to hear the absolutely insane story that he had to tell as an explanation for the bizarre request that he was making.

He wanted her to meet his parents. No. Bigger than that. He wanted her to meet the people that he respected more than he did his own parents. He'd told them about her—or rather about the woman who she was expected to pretend to be—and he needed her to "appear" with him at dinner the following night.

It would be a nice, quiet dinner. There would be "family" time in which they'd get to know her in the role that she'd be playing. She'd impress them with her ability to be the perfect woman in Daryl's mind and then, when it was all said and done, they'd call it a night.

As far as his "family" knew, since she had no better way to think of them, they'd break up after that. Maybe it would be a week later. Maybe they'd last another month or two. It wouldn't matter to her because it was really all make believe. She wouldn't have to play the game any longer. He'd break up with her before they could ask to see her again and he'd give them the terrible news of his broken heart—even if Carol had no idea how she was destined to break it.

One night. One dinner with nice people. A genuine acting job. That's what he was asking from Carol. In exchange? He'd do whatever she wanted—the favor could be asked now or asked later. As long as it was equally innocuous—and wouldn't land his ass right in the county jail—he'd be good on it. He was a Dixon, whatever that meant, and Dixons didn't renege on their promises. He was good for it.

"So I don't have to—do anything?" Carol asked.

"Well, you gotta convince them," Daryl said. He sighed. He was growing more and more frustrated as he explained himself. "I didn't mean to say it all. I just wanted them to think I was doin' alright. I wanted them to think—I could find that kinda gal. Ya know? So they don't think I'm..."

But he didn't finish saying what he didn't want to be thought of as. He shook his head instead.

"Don't matter," he said. "I didn't mean for it to go this far, but it did. I can't tell 'em I was lying. I just—can't. Will you do it? Because, I gotta be honest, I'm running outta time. And if you ain't gonna do it? I gotta find somebody and quick."

"It's the middle of the night," Carol pointed out.

"That's why the hell I need an answer," Daryl said. "And—quick like."

Carol sucked in a breath, considered it, and then she shrugged.

"Why not?" She asked. "Sure," she said, this time with more assurance behind her words. "Sure. I'll—I'll go to dinner with your parents or friends or whatever. It's—not that big of a deal."

He looked genuinely pleased. And he looked very relieved. He was, Carol couldn't help but notice, even more attractive when he was overcome with relief and a certain amount of happiness.

"You gonna do it?" He asked.

Carol smiled and nodded.

"I'm going to do it," she said. "Just—I'll give you my address? You can pick me up?"

He nodded.

"Absolutely," he declared. "And—you can wear whatever but just..."

"Remember the role I'm playing," Carol said, nodding her head. "Got it. Besides—this is my work uniform. This isn't how I normally dress."

"I didn't mean..." he stammered.

Carol shook her head and cut him off before he could even begin.

"Don't worry about it," she assured him. "I'll be dressed for the role. You got some paper? I'll give you my address and you can—write down some of the stuff that I should remember? Give me something to study? I need to know what I'm supposed to be if you want me to be it."

Daryl nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Sure I got some receipts or somethin' in the truck," he said. He gestured toward the only truck left in the parking lot and Carol followed after him. When they got there, he opened the door and burrowed around in the glove box until he came up with a pen that—after more than a few tries—actually worked and a few scraps of paper that he could part with.

Carol scribbled her address on one of the pieces of paper and then she stood, looking around at the nothing besides the few passing cars on the road out in front of the bar, and waited on Daryl to finish writing a list for her. On the bottom of the list, he wrote a phone number.

He smiled at her when she looked at him.

"In case you—you know. In case you need to ask me something," Daryl said. "I ain't gonna ask you for yours. I—asked you for enough. I ain't gonna ask you for your number."

Carol smiled at the sentiment, but she bit it back quickly.

"You owe me one," she said. "This isn't just a favor done for nothing."

Daryl nodded and looked as serious as he could for the moment.

"Absolutely," he said. "It's a favor. But—whatever you want? If I can do it? I'll make it up to you."

Carol nodded and looked him over once more. He was handsome. He seemed clean enough. He wasn't a drunk or he'd never have been able to be in a bar without being more intoxicated than he was right now. He evidently cared about people that were important to him. And—in his own way—he'd already proven himself to be more of a gentleman than most men that she knew. Honestly? Carol couldn't imagine why he'd ever need to make up a fake girlfriend and then find a woman who was willing to act out the part for him.

But that wasn't her place to ask that question, and it didn't matter anyway.

"Goodnight, Daryl," Carol said. "Pick me up tomorrow. At five."

Daryl smiled a half smile at her and nodded.

"I'll be on time," he promised.

"You better," Carol said. "Don't leave me waiting. After all—I'm the one doing you a favor."

One last glance at the man that had come into her life in the strangest way—already promising that his exit was just a short time from now—and Carol turned and headed toward her car.

Daryl, she noticed, got into his truck, but he didn't pull out of the parking lot until after she'd already pulled onto the road—just making sure that nothing might happen before she was safely on her way home.

She really didn't mind doing him a favor, and pretending to be whoever she needed to be, but she couldn't help but wonder a little bit more about who he really was and why a man like that would ever need such a favor from a woman like her.

But it wasn't her place to know that. At least, not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: There's probably one more chapter here that I'll be adding to this one.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl arrived on time, just like he'd promised he would. Carol had rushed to grab her purse and give herself something of a once over the moment that she'd seen his truck rolling down her driveway. She had read—studied really—the list that he'd given her, but it wasn't anything that was going to be too difficult to remember. He had gone into some detail about what kind of woman she should be, but there wasn't all that much that was out of the ordinary. At least she wasn't going to have to pretend that she trained elephants or anything like that.

Besides, Carol prided herself on being something of an actress. It was one of the few positives that she felt she brought out of her last relationship. She was good at convincing people of things, even if they weren't true in the slightest. Compared to some of her other performances? This would be a piece of cake.

When Carol opened the door to Daryl's knocking, he was standing there with three tulips in his hand. He held them almost like he wasn't sure what to do with them and like he'd considered, if she hadn't opened the door at just that moment, simply throwing them out into the yard to be rid of them. They were a nice gesture, but it was clear that he wasn't accustomed to offering such a gesture.

Carol took them, immediately, with a smile.

"They're beautiful," she said.

"Just flowers," Daryl responded.

Carol nodded and chewed her lip to keep from smiling at the comment. Daryl, ready for their "family" dinner, looked different than he had the night before. He was clearly freshly scrubbed. The jeans that he wore could've used another wash, maybe, and his button down shirt was in need of an ironing, but he looked nice. Carol gave him a quick glance from head to toe and didn't mind that she knew he was doing exactly the same thing to her.

He could use a haircut. His hair, where it was unkempt, had grown over his ears in an awkward way. These were all things that, if she weren't just an imaginary girlfriend that he'd break up with in his imagination in the coming weeks, she might try to gently suggest to him. It wasn't, though, any of her concern since this was simply something for the show of it.

"You look nice," Carol offered.

Daryl looked nervous, actually, but Carol didn't think anything about this really needed to be honesty hour. He looked surprised, too, that she'd said anything.

"You don't gotta...say that kinda stuff," Daryl stammered out. "Except—maybe if you could say something like that in front of them? Not that, but..."

Carol laughed then. She couldn't help it and she couldn't avoid it.

"I wasn't saying it as part of the show," she said, shaking her head. "I was saying it because you look nice, that's all."

She got a half smile in response and Daryl wiped it away as quickly as it had appeared.

"You look nice too," he said.

Carol thanked him, showing him how she thought he should've responded to the compliment that she'd offered, and she excused herself a moment to put the tulips in water in the kitchen. Then she stepped out the door and locked it with Daryl waiting just to the side.

"I think I've memorized everything you told me that I should know," Carol said. "Did you forget anything or is there anything else in particular that you want me to add or do?"

He hummed at her.

"I think I got it all," he said. "To be honest? I don't much remember everything I said. When I started talking? It was just like I couldn't stop, even though I kept telling myself it might be a good idea not to dig the hole that much deeper."

He escorted Carol to the truck and ceremoniously opened the door for her. She thanked him and surprised herself when she felt her face flooding with warmth over a gesture that was so simple and that should be, honestly, expected. It was nice. It wasn't something she'd ever been used to before.

Daryl crossed in front of the truck, his steps fast and resembling hopping motions, and he got in to immediately crank the vehicle.

"Whatever happens," Carol said, in an attempt to try to calm some of his concerns, "I'll do my best to roll with it. We'll get through this. It'll be a piece of cake."

He looked at her, nodded his head as thanks or acceptance or simply as a way of acknowledging that she's spoken, and sucked in a breath before he backed the car up to get them on their way.

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Daryl was enjoying himself far more than he thought he might. Hershel and Miss Jo seemed wholly impressed with Carol. And why wouldn't they be? She was perfect. Or, at least, she was fully capable of acting like she was perfect.

Immediately upon entering the door, she'd introduced herself to them both. Daryl had forgotten, entirely, that he'd told them her name was Anna. It had been the first thing that had popped into his mind, but it had quickly popped back out again. When she'd introduced herself, then, as Carol and had immediately been met with confusion and question about what Daryl called her, Carol had remained entirely collected and explained to them both that her middle name was Ann and that Daryl liked to call her "Anna" as a pet name because, the first time that she'd met him, she'd introduced herself with her full name and he'd misheard her, calling her by the wrong name the entire night. Now it stuck as a cute little inside joke between them.

She worked as a waitress, though she didn't tell them where, and she was saving up to go to school—that was how she fixed the fact that he'd forgotten to tell her that he'd told them she was studying to educate herself and get a good job. She wasn't studying just yet—but they were practicing positive thinking or something like that and making sure that it would come true just as soon as she cleared enough tips to get going.

First date? She had that. Daryl hadn't said anything to them about—thank goodness—but they were curious. Daryl had sat across the table, at that point, and listened to the story with as much interest as they had. For a moment? He wanted to be on such a date with her—but dates weren't really his strong point. Maybe, of course, it was because he hadn't ever actually been on one.

They met on account of they had a mutual friend. This mutual friend—the peroxide blonde from the Lobo—had taken Daryl out one night to keep her from being bothered because she wanted a quiet night. While they'd been out, Carol had shown up because she was in need of some cheering up. Daryl—being far better at things in Carol's imagination than he tended to be in real life—had really done his best to make her have a good night.

It was far-fetched, in Daryl's opinion, but Hershel and Miss Jo bought it. That's how they'd met. By the end of the night? It had been Carol that had asked Daryl out because she just couldn't stand the thought of not seeing him again. That's when they'd gone on their first date.

It was a simple date. Just the way that she apparently thought Daryl would've liked it. She'd offered to bring a basket lunch and he'd taken her fishing out on Johnson's pond. He'd been such a gentleman that he'd baited her hook for her and he'd gotten all the fish off her hook so she wouldn't get pricked by any of them. They'd thrown them all back because that's what Carol had wanted to do and then they'd had her basket lunch right out there on the lake where they'd already spent the day. Food done, they'd gone and they'd gotten ice cream and sat and talked for more hours, according to Carol, than Daryl thought he could manage talking about anything.

It had been a nice date. Daryl hadn't even been on it, but he'd enjoyed it by the time she finished talking about it.

There had been quite a few more since then. Carol didn't go into detail about any of them, and Daryl had to stop himself before he was the one that asked her to tell him about them.

And yes she loved baking. She loved cooking. She was learning to sew, and Daryl told her that she had to get better at it before he was trusting her to go sewing up his clothes since she'd nearly sewn the leg of a pair of her own pants shut while trying to fix some kind of messed up seam. She didn't know much about canning, but if Daryl brought home anything from the farm—of the extra that Miss Jo was already offering her and Daryl both—then she would love to try to pick it up. And, of course, if she and Daryl were still together, then she'd love to come and learn a little first hand from Miss Jo.

The coffee cake was delicious. The coffee was wonderful. The house was precious—after the grand tour—and Carol, too, had always wanted to live on a little farm where she might have some chickens and a cow or two.

Daryl got into the show too. As it went on, he found himself agreeing with her when she gave information about their imaginary relationship. He laughed at what were supposed to be inside jokes, just as if he'd heard them a million times before and they never lost their charm, even if they were brand new to him.

By the time it was over? Daryl was almost half convinced that everything that had been said was true. He'd only just stopped himself—like he had when he'd wanted to ask Carol to tell him more stories—from accepting an invitation to join the Greene's again on Sunday for dinner.

They might have plans for Sunday, after all, and they might not be able to make it. Carol had offered that excuse before giving Daryl a glance out of the side of her eyes that he figured was her way of reminding him that, if he was as quick at coming up with things as he had been at creating her, they'd more than likely have broken up by Sunday. Something, inevitably, was going to happen that would ruin what appeared to be, at the moment, the most perfect union that ever had been or ever would be.

It hadn't happened yet, but Daryl had a certain twisting in his gut that told him he wouldn't have too hard of a time acting like it had come as something of a hard blow.

After they said goodbye, Daryl walked Carol out to the truck as he should and opened her door. She slid right on into the seat and he closed it. He circled around to where Hershel and Miss Jo were standing, just at the front of the truck, and he offered them another, and final, goodnight on his own part.

"I'm happy for you, son," Hershel said, nodding his head quickly in the direction of the truck. "She seems like a real good girl. Good for you."

Daryl offered Hershel the best thanks that he could. The gnawing in his stomach, though, was making it difficult for him to feel too sincere. He couldn't imagine what the man was going to think, in just a few days' time, when he told them that he'd let her slip the hook. After all, he could make it all about her—how she just turned out to be something terrible that he never even saw coming—but it just didn't seem right to do that.

"She's—good," Daryl said. "She's—alright."

Miss Jo laughed at that.

"Alright?" She asked, something coming into her voice. "You better have nicer things than that to say to her," she teased. "She's a good girl. Perfect for you. Go on. Don't let us keep you. I hope you have something nice planned for this evening?"

Daryl swallowed.

The only nice thing that he had planned was to return the woman to her home. He'd probably tell her that she did a good job, because she'd done an even better job than he'd thought she might do, and then he'd thank her again for her acting efforts. If he had an award for her then he might have offered her that, but as it turned out he was empty handed. So he wouldn't give her anything. He'd thank her, remind her that he was around to take care of anything should she need it, and then he'd wish her a goodnight.

But he wasn't going to tell them that. He wasn't going to ruin, after she'd put so much effort into it, the magic of the night.

"Yeah," he said, gently nodding his head. "Got a big night planned. Good. Quiet."

They both seemed amused at that, even if Daryl wasn't exactly invested in figuring out why.

"We won't keep you then," Hershel said. "You go on. Have a good time. Sunday? If you don't have plans or something? Bring her over for dinner. She can meet everyone else then."

Daryl just nodded his head at that and turned to get into his truck where Carol was waiting. He climbed in, closed the door, cranked the truck, and was halfway down the long driveway before he spoke at all.

"You done good tonight," Daryl said. "Gotta admit, I was worried. You pulled it off, though, and good."

Carol laughed quietly in her seat.

"It was nice," she said. "They're really wonderful people. I can see why you care about them so much. What—what about your parents?"

Daryl hummed.

That was a subject that wasn't one he really wanted to take up with too many people, and it certainly wasn't one that he wanted to discuss in a situation that was best described as being "in passing".

"Not much to speak of," he said, dismissing the question for the most part. He glanced at Carol. The pleasant expression she'd been wearing faded some, but she didn't say anything in response. "Hershel and Miss Jo? They're like parents," Daryl said, trying to give her something. "Took me in when I was having a hard time. Give me a job. Sometimes? Give me a lil' more money than I earned because they know when I'm needing it. Better'n most parents."

Carol hummed.

"You got parents?" Daryl asked.

Carol snorted.

"Everyone has parents," Carol said. "Now—whether or not they're around or whether or not you can count on them? That's a different story. But everyone has parents. Everyone came from somewhere."

"Fair enough," Daryl said. "Can you—count on yours?"

Carol was quiet for a moment and Daryl assumed that, maybe, her parents were as touchy of a subject as his were.

"I could," she said. "When they were around."

Daryl felt the twisting in his stomach again, but this time it was a little different than before.

"Sorry," he said.

Carol hummed.

"Don't be," she responded. "They asked you if we were doing something nice. You said we were. What are we doing?"

Daryl glanced at her.

"What?" He asked.

Carol smiled.

"The truck isn't sound proof," she said. "And—I'm not that bad at reading lips."

"Figured you'd wanna go home," Daryl said.

"Oh, I do," Carol said. "But that doesn't mean I have to go home right away. If you're tired, though..."

Daryl swallowed. The twisting in his stomach suddenly stopped because it was replaced with a new sensation—this one felt a lot more wobbly than the one before.

"Not much to do at this hour," Daryl said.

Carol hummed and then she smiled at Daryl in the fading light of day that invaded the cab of the truck.

"Well—in memory of our first date, and in honor of our last, maybe we could go out to Johnson's pond?" Carol offered. "Just—watch the sun set? We could—pick up something?"

Daryl considered it a moment. In memory of their first date—a date that she'd, supposedly, asked him on. In honor of their last date—a date that had been the full culmination of a relationship built entirely on something of a daydream.

He could drink to that.

"You like wine?" He asked. "Curt Willis makes good homemade wine. Sells it outta his house. Sweet and he owes me a bottle."

Carol smiled at him.

"Sounds perfect," she confirmed.

It was all the confirmation that Daryl needed to steer his truck down a road that he hadn't planned on taking to head out toward the edge of town where Curt lived—the man's house wasn't too far out of the way from where they were planning to go for a quiet end to the evening.

At least Daryl hadn't lied about one thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we go. This is the third little chapter and the last little bit of this fluffy little something.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The homemade wine was the only kind of wine that Daryl could drink. It was sweet enough that it might as well have been called liquid candy and the buzz that it brought was an easy, peaceful buzz that made everything, if only for a moment, simply seem more pleasant. They'd foregone picking up anything else, and now they were sitting on the bank of Johnson's pond, asses in the dirt, staring out at the still water. Every now and again there was the sound of some small splash of water—a fish's tail or someone coming up to snatch a bug off the surface.

It was a nice evening and the sunset was bleeding out all around them. The light from it, when Daryl glanced at her, practically seemed to be reflecting off of Carol's hair. She sat, drinking the wine out of the plastic cups that Curt had given Daryl when he'd asked for them, and smiled at nothing—the wine buzz apparently making her feel a little happier to be alive too.

They'd been there at least an hour before the silence between them was broken at all. It might have gone on that way until the sun had entirely disappeared from sight, but Carol slapped suddenly, and with some seeming surprise, at her arm and let out a quiet barking sound.

"Somethin' bite you?" Daryl asked.

She smiled at him, then, like she'd entirely forgotten his presence beside her on the bank.

"Mosquito, probably," she responded.

Daryl hummed.

"They'll do that," he said. "You—uh—you wanna go? They botherin' you?"

She hummed in the negative and shook her head, so Daryl offered her a refill from the glass jug-like bottle that Curt made his wine in. The bottle, as always, would be returned when the product was gone. She thanked him for the wine and tasted it, but the silence was broken and therefore they might as well chat—at least that's what it seemed she'd decided when she started to speak.

"The Greenes," Carol said, "how did you meet them?"

Daryl hummed.

"Was in a bad place," he said, scratching at his own mosquito bites. "Uh—come here just outta...hell, I don't even know. Come here 'cause it weren't where I was. Hershel? He had a job. Needed someone to—to pick up the slack? Someone to do what his son couldn't do because he didn't want to be no farmer. Went off to college? Well—I didn't have a job and I didn't have no money, so it sounded alright to me. Took it and..."

Daryl broke off and shrugged. It was difficult, sometimes, to tell a simple story. There wasn't that much to tell and it wasn't that interesting, so it didn't exactly seem to come smoothly.

"Took it," he said again, this time more abruptly. "They helped me out. Still help me out. Good people."

Carol smiled and nodded her head. The smile grew. Whether it was the wine or it was the poor story, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

"So you're not from here?" Carol asked.

"Not sure if I'm from anywhere," Daryl responded. She raised her eyebrows at him to ask for more information, but he shook his head at her and tasted the wine from his own plastic cup. "Don't worry about it," he said. "It ain't worth telling."

She did something of her own type of shrug and hummed quietly.

"You from here?" Daryl asked, trying to keep things going as soon as he was struck with the fear that he might have offended her.

"Close enough," Carol said. "I'm from Chesterton. It's about twenty miles away? Close enough, though. I've lived here a while."

"After your folks?" Daryl asked, though he didn't try to fill in the information about what he suspected had happened to her parents. He didn't have to, she nodded her head slightly to close out the comment and he assumed it was her own way of saying that it was a story he shouldn't worry about.

"So have you thought about it?" Carol asked. "How you'll—tell the Greenes we'll break up?"

Daryl's stomach did the same odd twist that it had done ten times over since dinner.

"No," he admitted. "I guess—I'll come up with something. Tell 'em—say that things didn't work out? Say—I weren't right for you? Shouldn't come as no surprise to them."

"Why not?" Carol pressed.

Daryl shook his head. A quick glance, though, told him that she was getting tired of being dismissed. She was growing bored with him simply shutting down everything that she chose as possible topics of conversation. He couldn't keep dismissing her or he'd have a real solid reason to tell them why they might have broken up if this were real and not just some fantasy that was topped off by a wine-fuzzied heart to heart.

Daryl chuckled to himself and shook his head at the thought. Just as he'd suspected, he heard her prompting him to tell her what he found funny about the whole thing.

"Tell 'em we broke up because you got pissed off because I wouldn't tell you nothing," Daryl said.

"I feel like you owe me something," Carol said. "I mean—if you don't want to talk about why you came here or where you came from, you owe me something. Why did you lie to them? Why did you—why did you make this whole thing up?"

Daryl stared at her a moment.

She was pretty. The longer the day seemed to grow, the prettier she seemed to get. She wasn't pretty in the magazine and movie way. She wasn't that kind of girl that everyone dropped their jaws and bugged their eyes when she walked by.

But maybe that's what made her so pretty.

Right now, with the last bit of light from the day failing out around her, she was especially pretty.

Daryl swallowed.

"Made you up because there weren't nobody else," he said. "I made you up because—the Greenes? They got a whole parcel of kids. Got enough kids that you'da damn near thought they run an orphanage. And all of them kids? They're their kids. Every one. Got two daughters out of the whole mess of them and one of them's going steady with this guy. The other one? She makes these damn—owl eyes—at me all the time. Just—bugs me while I'm doing stuff. Always wanting to talk about this or that—telling me what she's thinking about and what she's..."

Daryl huffed and shook his head.

"Hell if I even know what it's all about," he said. "Just—gets under my fingernails like a splinter."

Carol laughed.

"She's got a crush!" Carol declared. She seemed to be overjoyed at this. She was so pleased by the idea, in fact, that coupled with the pleasure of the wine it sent her into a laughter that made her steady herself by putting her hand out to the side to keep herself from toppling into the dirt. Daryl let her have her laugh, and he even stopped himself from laughing at her twice, but then he responded when the wave had passed.

"I know she does," Daryl said. "I'm not stupid. I know what the hell a crush is."

"Then why make something up?" Carol asked, still somewhat amused. "I don't understand. If there's something there...why make something up?"

Daryl hummed and turned his attention to ripping grass out of the ground around him. Once he'd mowed enough of the area to think about his response, he shared it with Carol.

"If we were fishing—just like you said we would've done—and one of them snappers down there in the edge got hung up on your hook, what would you do?" Daryl asked.

Carol furrowed her brows at him slightly in question, but when he nodded his head at her to continue, she spoke.

"Throw it back?" Carol said, her response coming out like she was unsure of it.

"You sure?" Daryl asked, amused. "You want some snapper soup or something?"

She snorted quietly at his teasing.

Now the night was wrapping around them well enough that her features were become much more hidden to him.

"We weren't eating them," Carol said. "We were throwing them all back. I made a lunch. Remember?"

Daryl smiled to himself.

He didn't remember the event. He couldn't. It had never happened. But he did remember the way it had made him feel when he'd listened to her talking about it and about how much fun they had.

"Yeah," he said. "But—saying we were gonna eat them. What would you do?"

"Throw it back," Carol said, this time with more confidence behind her response.

Daryl hummed, satisfied.

"That's not an answer," Carol said softly.

"It's a damn good answer," Daryl said. "Just because you got something on your hook—don't mean it's what you want. Just because it's biting don't mean you wanna eat it."

Carol laughed, this time with a giggle that was a pleasant middle ground between the snort and the belly laugh that had threatened to lay her out on the grass.

"So you don't like her," Carol said.

"Too damn—young," Daryl said. "She's barely eighteen. Graduated high school just in May."

"That's not that young," Carol asserted.

"Too damn young..." Daryl said again. "Not just—it ain't just her age, you know? Just—too young. Helluva lot younger'n me. She ain't never seen nothing. She ain't never..."

He broke off and sighed, struggling to find the words. Carol sat there and waited, though, clearly fine with giving him all the time that he required to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. She wasn't telling him, like some people did, to spit it out because his thought time bothered them.

"Worst damn thing that's ever happened to that girl is maybe that she got a Chestnut pony when she wanted a grey one," Daryl said finally. Carol made a noise now that was closer to the snort. "You know what I mean?" Daryl pressed, searching for validation.

"Yeah," Carol responded softly. "I know exactly what you mean. So—not the farmer's daughter. I get it. But—why make it up? There's nobody else? Nobody that—could've not been made up?"

Daryl stared at her a moment, not that he could see too terribly much in the failing light. She moved and came to him, surprising him for a moment when he felt the pressure of her body against his. His pulse picked up oddly. He felt his breathing change its rhythm. But, almost immediately, she pulled back and he realized that she'd only reached across him for the glass jug.

His stomach did another dance and then sunk down like a dog that had been banished to the corner.

He didn't feel, anymore, like he was in the mood for the question and answer period.

"You interviewing me or something?" He asked. "You keep asking me all these questions. I don't have nothing to tell."

Silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Carol said softly. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant—surely there was someone out there that was biting that wasn't...a snapping turtle."

Daryl chuckled in spite of himself. Then he sighed.

"No," he said. "It's just a big damn pond full of snapping turtles. And I knew—when the Greenes started badgering me like they were about finding someone nice? I knew what they were gonna do. They were gonna say—ya know? That maybe I oughta..."

Daryl cleared another small area of grass.

"But I didn't want to," Daryl said. "So—I just told them about this woman that didn't exist. I told them about the one I wouldn't have wanted to throw back, just like she was here and real and really on the hook, and I guess I just liked the lie too much and I got wrapped up in it. So it just kept on growing."

Carol hummed.

"And then you come right into the Lobo and you decide to find her," Carol said.

Daryl chuckled.

"Or find an actress," Daryl said. "Found a damn good one too."

Carol hummed again.

"There really wasn't all that much acting involved," she said. But she didn't clarify and she didn't go on any longer. She let the silence fall between them again except for the sound of her slapping at the mosquitos that were making a meal out of her.

It wasn't fair to make her sit out here and become an entrée just because Daryl wasn't ready to call their fictional evening to an end.

He groaned and started to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked.

"Getting up," Daryl said. "Getting late. Mosquitos are ridiculous. You shouldn't have to sit out here—just getting your blood sucked up. I'ma take you home. Like I said I would."

"You're—are you OK to drive?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl confirmed. "I'm good. Besides—nothing else to do unless you wanted to just sleep in the truck."

Carol laughed quietly.

"Well," she said, "there is a bed..."

Daryl snorted and reached a hand toward her.

"Stop," he responded. He found her hand and pulled her up before they gathered up their cups and the glass jug—all the evidence that they'd been there beyond the very probably butt prints in the grass and the small area where Daryl had yanked up the tall blades and ripped them off.

Carol didn't protest the going home any farther. In fact, as soon as she hit her feet, she practically ran for the truck, slapping at the mosquitos as she went. Daryl followed behind her with a little less enthusiasm and smiled to himself when she was waiting by the side of the truck for him to open her door. He did, just as she expected he would, and she crawled inside. He put the glass jug on the floor between her feet, where it wouldn't be easily noticed by any nice police officer that might glance into the vehicle for any reason at all, and Carol touched his arm as he was straightening up to close the door.

"Mmmm?" He hummed.

"I had a good time," Carol said. "I mean—the whole thing. The dinner...the pond. The—dates? I had a good time."

Daryl smiled to himself, but quickly swallowed at the now familiar feeling in his stomach.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Me too."

Carol cleared her throat.

"You still—owe me one," Carol said. "If—answering the questions didn't cancel that out? You still owe me a favor?"

Daryl felt a normal sensation of worry surrounding the thought of a favor owed—of anything owed.

"No," he said. "No—I mean no they don't cancel it out. Yeah. I owe you. Whatever. Just—just let me know."

"I will," Carol said quickly. "Right now. I mean—I know what I want you to do..."

Daryl hummed, his pulse kicking up a notch like he was waiting for some kind of big reveal on a horror movie.

"I had a good time," Carol said again. Daryl resisted the urge to tell her that she'd already said that. "The whole thing. The dates—were nice to imagine."

Daryl found that even if he wanted to respond, he was suddenly without the ability. He only wished the light in the cab of his truck wasn't burned out and they hadn't stayed out so late so that he could see her. He couldn't, though, and no amount of wishing was going to give them some kind of instant, magical light source.

"So—I want to go on a date," Carol said. "A real one. You and me—the real me. And—the real you. The whole thing."

Daryl still couldn't respond. His stomach now was doing acrobatics that it hadn't even imagined doing before. He could've blamed it on the wine, but he knew it had nothing to do with the wine. He hadn't even had that much of the sweet drink.

"You wanna go on a date with me?" Daryl asked, as soon as he managed to find the words that had gotten lodged somewhere in his throat.

Carol apparently found that as amusing as some of the other things said during the course of the evening.

"Well—that would be part of the favor," she said. "But—if you didn't want to, I understand the whole thing. Snapping turtle."

Daryl chuckled at his own example.

"No," he said. "No—you ain't...you ain't a snapping turtle."

"So—you'll do it?" Carol asked.

Daryl wanted to tell his stomach to calm down. There was no need for all that activity, and if he got sick right now he might never be able to talk his way out of it. The whole thing, though, was almost too much, apparently, for certain parts of his anatomy to bear.

"Yeah," he said quickly, not wanting to talk himself out of it—which he might if he gave himself time. He could be very convincing. "Yeah—I could do that."

When Carol spoke, Daryl didn't have to see her face. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Then—Saturday?" Carol asked. "If—you don't have any other plans?"

Daryl thought about it a moment. He was smiling, but he doubted that she could see it, judging by how little he could see of her face. He ran his hand, for a moment, along the cool metal of the truck door that it was resting on while frozen in his efforts to close it.

"Saturday," he said. "But—I'ma still owe you one. This one's—just as much a favor to me as it is to you."

Carol hummed.

"We'll work it out," she said, reaching and pulling the door shut herself before she left Daryl, smiling to a point that his lips were unaccustomed to such an expression, to come around the truck and drive her home, just like he'd promised.


End file.
